Glimpses In The Life Of A King
by TolkienScribe
Summary: He was the king of strange elves, who were not like the other elves. He ruled over a mysterious forest, that was not like other forests. They thought him many things, but his memories defined him. Please read and review. :)


**Author's Note:**

**Disclaimer: **Do not own LOTR

**This one-shot has no romance, please respect this viewpoint.**

**Flames not appreciated. Constructive criticism is accepted.**

Enjoy! :)

**~S~**

**Friendship**

The first time they had laid eyes on him, he was fearsome.

His finely made clothes had been torn and bloody, with his sword hanging from his belt. He had been by his father's side, supporting his weight. His golden, slightly tangled hair fell loosely around his face and over his shoulders. There was an air of grimness around him and his lips were set in a straight, tight line. Behind him were few of his people, those who had survived the sacking of Doriath and the plunder within it.

They had asked him his name, and he looked at them strangely before replying, "Thranduil". And that was all what he had spoken until his father was tended to. His father's name was Oropher and his mother was killed in the sacking of Doriath. They had mourned their loss in silence and they were splendid even then. If they had shed tears, the wood-elves did not know of it.

Of all the wood-elves, he had been most curious of these new elves. So one time, when Thranduil had refused food and drink offered to him and left for to watch the stars at night, he followed. He had placed a piece of bread and some broth in a bowl and carried it silently to where this new strange elf was walking. And then Thranduil stopped, and he stopped also. They were alone, and Thranduil did nothing save raise his face to the sky and watch the stars intently.

Hours had passed by until finally he decided to make the first move. He understood that they had no home, and it was time for them to settle here with them.

He walked up to him and offered him the bowl.

Thranduil looked at him in surprise. He had not expected to be followed, and the elf had moved quietly. In the starlight, Thranduil could see that the elf had black locks like the rest of his kin and he was tall but well-muscled, with serious and stern features.

"I am not hungry."

"That is what they all say in times of grief and pain." The stranger answered, still holding out the bowl. "Eat." He commanded simply.

Thranduil opened his mouth to decline but he accepted it nevertheless. He sat down on the grass and ate silently. The stranger sat down beside him and looked up at the stars, hair falling back as he did so. he sat patiently as Thranduil ate, admittedly ravenously.

When Thranduil finished and set the bowl down on the forest floor, there was an awkward silence.

"Thank you." Thranduil said quietly, and the stranger nodded simply in reply. It made Thranduil bolder and he asked, "What is your name?"

Piercing eyes met Thranduil's own. "My name is Fion, son of Duron."

Thranduil smiled. "Thranduil, son of Oropher."

Fion looked back at the stars, lips curling as he did so.

"I know." With a hint of amusement, he added. "You are not hard to miss."

And that was where his friendship started.

oOo

**Love**

Oropher knew more about war and weaponry than any of his people and even more than the wood-elves. He was wise, but he was dangerous as well. And he was a prominent leader.

And so he was made their king and they soon saw that in spite of their grimness, they were able people. So the wood-elves were content with what they had chosen.

And while Oropher was proud and tall who preferred fewer words, they soon warmed quickly to the king's son. His name was Thranduil; everybody knew him. And when the War of the Silmarils had ended, they soon witnessed his easy smiles and his leisurely talks. He gave a quick and ready ear for anyone who had complaints. And while Oropher was beloved to them as their king, his son was truly the people's favorite.

And so when one of their own caught his eye and he courted her, the news of it spread. He became dearer and dearer. When he married into their own, he was the people's leader.

So one day, Oropher looked up from his papers in amusement at his son. It was sometime after Thranduil's wedding with Arodien and he had just began to notice how his people looked more towards his son than to him.

"Are you trying to replace me, my son?" Oropher asked, laughing when he caught yet another letter to the prince.

"Well, father, I needed to quicken the matters. Mayhap they thought you would need help in your affairs given your old age." Thranduil had replied smoothly.

Oropher shook his head and laughed.

oOo

**Family**

They had an heir who shared their blood and their joy.

His name was Legolas and while the elfling looked nothing like his mother, they loved him still. He loved what they loved. Often he could be found scrambling up the trees and speaking to them for hours on end or listening to one of the wood-elves narrate tales to him. He memorized what he could by heart and listened to others for amusement.

And then he grew older and he opted for the wood-elves' way of fighting; dual knives instead of swords, to become Rangers instead of Warriors.

"A disgrace to your family, you are," Thranduil muttered to his son when he entered his study, completely dressed in shades of black and green, his dual knives and bow and quiver slung across his back.

"You are just jealous that they love him more than they ever did you," Oropher called out from his own side of the study. Legolas only smiled, enjoying the banter between his sire and grandsire.

"I am not! I recall, father, that you were put off when the people preferred me over you." Thranduil reminded his father. Oropher did not hesitate to accept the fact.

"Aye, I was." Oropher said, smiling broadly as he looked up from his papers. "But all is forgiven and forgotten now that my grandson competes against my son."

There was a burst of laughter and Thranduil turned accusingly at the only other present in the room. But Legolas had turned to check his belt, the barest of the smiles still present on his face.

oOo

**Sorrow**

It was the year of lament for him. He had lost all he had loved in one move, in one year. At times, he wondered if he could move on. At times, he wondered if it would stop hurting if he simply lay down and slept.

It started at the eve of the final battle of the Second Age. They stood at the edge of darkness, at the very edge of Mordor. And they will fight the fell creatures at the foot of the Mount Doom.

It was a silent night.

And out of the absurdity of it all, his father had suddenly stood up and grabbed his hand to make him stand up as well. He announced, in words loud and clear, "My son, Thranduil will lead you should I fall."

He had hated those words. And he knew Legolas knew as well, though the young elf kept his silence. And he confronted his father angrily after that sudden outburst. Oropher merely raised his eyes and he saw the sadness in them. He had broken into tears and Oropher merely embraced him for a moment.

And then they brought back his broken body in the first, foolish assault. Oropher had died in his son's arms. and as for himself, he would have thrown himself into a mindless battle had it not for his son's firm pressure on his shoulder. He looked up and met his son's serious blue eyes.

"Rally to me." Legolas said.

And rallied to him, he did. Gathering his final thoughts, and accepting the fact that he was king now, he led his people into battle, and they slew many fell creatures that day.

Many friends were lost that day and they came home in the comfort that they might at least enjoy what little joys they had earned. But it was not to be so. Dismayed by the darkening of their beautiful forest, and sad on the horrors they had seen, many of his people set sail. Among them was his wife.

And so Thranduil sat silently in an empty study, staring listlessly into space. Oropher's table was untouched, for he did not have the heart to go through his things yet. He refused to take his seat on the throne; it was still his father's, after all. And he could not bear going back to his chambers, where memories of his wife would plague him.

And then he felt that same precious on his shoulder, that unwavering pressure. He looked up and met his son's serious blue eyes.

"Rally to me." Legolas said quietly.

And rallied to him, he did.

oOo

**Laughter**

Thranduil understood the meaning of duty for the first time when he sat upon his throne. It was his duty to look after his people. It was his duty to ensure his safety. It was his duty to keep everything in order. And it was his duty to keep peril away from them. So woe upon any who dared harm his people.

It was so very taxing upon his strength and mind. He worked diligently and feverishly to ensure their safety and the easy running of his kingdom. Legolas chided him continuously on his work, but Thranduil did not listen to him always.

"You do not know when to take a break." Legolas told him wearily, gently pulling his father out his study in an attempt to get him to rest.

They all fussed over him. Even Fion, who was the same as he was. His advisor, Thorontur, was the most capable in getting him to leave his study, for he took over where the king had left.

They had often asked him (or scolded him, depending on who they were) over why he spent so long worrying over every detail of the kingdom. He had strengthened their stronghold, their army and had given every resource imaginable to keep the comfortable in his Halls. And he could not begin to explain that he did it in his father's memory, who had spent every waking moment for his kingdom's sake. And he loved the people who loved him dearly. So, he had not wanted them to suffer if he made a slip or a mistake.

Some called his duty a thankless chore, or a harsh life that had no reward. But it had its reward. In fact, he enjoyed it every night. It was the time when the Halls were brightly lit to keep the darkness of the night at bay, and the silence is dispelled with merry songs in fair voices and the tables are filled with food and drink. That was where his reward lay. So he sat upon his throne and smiled as his son led a particularly lively dance and Thranduil knew that within his Halls, his people were safe.

oOo

**Determination**

One of the things that he always had to deal with was the battle he had fought. Every day, the forest called out to him, begging him to aid his people who were trapped, or his soldiers who were surrounded by foes at all sides.

Oftentimes, he wondered how long he could hold on. His forest was not protected by the Rings of Power like Rivendell and Lothlorien. And he often feared in lonely watches of the night that one day he would wake up to see ruin about him.

But his people were determined and they were wise in their own way. They had tasted danger many times, and had their own brushes with death. That caused them to love their lives more, and each night there was a merry meeting. Each night there was a lively song.

So whenever he went out into the battlefield or in the various skirmishes in his forest, he usually ignored his son's worried glance towards him.

"You know, I may have spent a long time in the study but I do know how to wield a sword, youngling." He said conversationally, mounting his horse.

"Oh, I do not know, father." Legolas said, seriously. Thranduil could just imagine the definite humor in his son's eyes which he would surely see if he would turn and look. "You are getting feeble in your old age, after all."

Thranduil turned in renewed, but baffled rage. At that time, Legolas was a safe distance away, laughing as he ran for the trees where the elves under his command waited.

He had seen much grief in battle. His kith had fallen and Legolas' kin from his mother's side had also fallen. They had no aid from Lothlorien and Rivendell and they had to fight the evil in their forest on their own. So Thranduil watched every devastation, every sadness and every horror of skirmishes and battles, and stored them in his mind.

Battles were a fuel for him, through which he strove even harder to keep his people safe.

oOo

**Leadership**

Thranduil started when a steaming cup came into his view. He looked up to see who the arm belonged to and saw Celeborn looming over him.

"Drink," The lord said quietly. "You need it."

Thranduil thought to refuse it but decided against it. He nodded his thanks and took the cup from him. Celeborn straightened and then shifted to sit beside the Elven King.

The first sip he took from the cup made him gasp and almost retch. The drink was extremely salty and had a texture to it. Celeborn nodded in sympathy.

"that was my frist reaction when I took my first sip." Celeborn said. "But you need to drink it completely."

"I assume that was what your healers told you." Thranduil said, grimacing. He decided to wait for the drink to cool.

"Aye," Celeborn said. Then, as if understanding the other's thoughts, he added, "Drink while it is still hot. Its taste will worsen when cool."

Thranduil complied and took a sip, forcing down a shudder. He blew off the steam of his cup and took yet another sip. Celeborn merely looked on.

They were still dressed in their armor, which was bloody and marked with gore. Their hair was in disarray and their clothes were torn. Both the elves had their swords resting by their sides.

Thranduil kept taking small sips. He forced each one down before taking another and yet another. The taste was ghastly, but he admittedly felt refreshed and much more alert. He kept his eyes trained to the scene in front of him, successfully keeping his mind off what he was drinking. Finally, he raised his cup up to find that he finished it completely. He placed the cup on the ground thankfully.

An awkward silence ensued between the two elves. They were distant kin to one another but after the Sacking of Doriath, much had come between them. After the first War of the Ring, they never did see eye to eye, until the time had come to march to Dol Guldur and the aid from Lothlorien was a surprise but needed as well.

"I thank you," Thranduil said quietly. "You have brought aid to my people."

"There is no need to thank us." Celeborn replied, his voice just as quiet. "We were eager to provide help where we could. And elves in the pits of Dol Guldur were our kith and kin."

Another silence fell upon them, this time less awkward.

"What were you thinking about when I had come upon you?" Celeborn asked, breaking it.

"I was only thinking about how far I had come." Thranduil replied. "I started from the city of Doriath and fate had brought me here with my father and what was left of my people to this forest. And all the trials I had seen throughout my years had finally brought me here."

"And we have finally gotten rid of the evil that had plagued us." Celeborn said.

"Aye," Thranduil said. "We have."

He was still stunned, in truth. He had fought the shadow for so long that he could not simply believe that it was all… gone. They were free at last. Already the forest looked livelier, fresher and sweeter. They were vary, but now there was nothing to fear any longer.

"How did you do it?" Celeborn's question broke into his thoughts.

"How did I do what?"

"You have looked after your people well, Thranduil. Without the aid of any ring or any other power. It makes me wonder how you managed it all?"

Thranduil looked away and thought. It was true. He often wondered himself. It was not easy and it had been time-consuming. He could still remember every separate day he spent striving for his kingdom. it needed everything from him; his experience, his feelings, his thoughts. He devoted all of them to the sole purpose to look after his people, to give them a home they always loved in the forest they always loved.

And that was where the answer lay.

With one finger of his pointing and the rest curled, he silently swept it around the scene. When the gesture completed, he got up and turned to leave a baffled lord of Lothlorien behind.

"You have not answered my question, Thranduil!"

"I have, Celeborn!"

"You only swept your hand towards your people!"

"That was my answer." Thranduil replied, for he knew now in his heart that that was what had fueled his desire to serve his people.

**~S~**

**Author's Note:**

A bitterly cold day and a cup of coffee just called for a one-shot.

I know, I know. This was completely different from my usual style of writing. Let me explain.

I found this one lying around among my stuff. It had started out as a... character sketch dump, shall we say. When I first came to ffn, I used to write stuff to explain a certain character. So it was a like a character sketch over which my stories would be based upon. My old readers would recognize my OCs, Fion and Arodien from their respective stories found in my profile. Legolas and others were much easy to map out but Thranduil was a little hard for me.

From the first time I read about him in the Hobbit, I found him to be a complicated character at first glance. The first thing to strike me was the fact that he took his duty as a king very seriously. So that was the main factor of this one-shot.

Now throughout the one-shot, you would see him going through different emotions or phases of his life. Each one was something that defined him. I wanted to show him in all those stages of life... something like a glimpse.

I think Thranduil is a character who was shown woefully little in all Tolkien stories, that often leaves one wondering "What was going on in Mirkwood at that time?"

For me, at least, I wondered what his life was like. A father, a husband, a king who had come to the crown in battle, and a lone guardian of his people with no such aid from the ring of power like Galadriel and Elrond. And his evil stood at the very edge of his stronghold where his people were held as prisoners. It made me wonder more and more about him, and how he was like with the crown.

In my stories, I usually depict Thranduil with humor matching his son's but with an underlying sadness to him. The ecperiences here show his sadness more strongly. So that was what I was going for. In the end, it was his people who had put fuel into his desire to protect them and to take care of them in the same way as they had taken care of him when he came to them. I also wanted to show their love for him, because why else would they follow him as their king?

Anyway, tell me what you think. :)

**Good? Bad? Let me know!**

**Some facts:-**

1. It is believed that Thranduil and Oropher had come from the city of Doriath. They had fled the city on its Sacking in the Second Kinslaying by the Feanorian Princes when they came for the Silmaril. They had then travelled to Mirkwood, that was called Greenwood at that time. There, Oropher became their king and the line continued there.

2. Some think that Thranduil already had a wife and others think that he had married one of the wood-elves (on the basis whether Legolas had golden hair or black). However, I am going with the latter version.

3. It is believed that both Oropher and Celeborn were distantly related to each other through Elu Thingol, King of Doriath. So they were kin.

4. Oropher had died in a reckless assualt in the Last Battle of the First War of the Ring when he charged onto the enemy. He was killed in that attempt and Thranduil came to the crown upon the battlefield. So he was the king throughout the Third Age. Some believe he had lingered in his forest till all his people set sail. While others believe that he had sailed shortly after the Ring-bearers.


End file.
